


Beneath the Crystal Canopy

by errandofmercy



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:16:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1224226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/errandofmercy/pseuds/errandofmercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During their journey to the Glittering Caves, Legolas makes a painful discovery. </p><p>Coming out to oneself, angst, and a not-so-surprising ending. Definitely not based on personal experience XD</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

The caves were beyond anything Legolas could have imagined. It seemed madness that during the battle of Helm’s Deep, he had stood and fought so close to such a wonder and never known its splendor. He was glad to have had a hand in protecting them from the Orcs, not only for the sake of their preservation but for the look of pure rapture that now illuminated the face of his friend. Gimli strolled slowly along the path as they entered, his face upturned to the soaring ceiling with fresh astonishment. His eyes sparkled like gems as he took in the winding sprays of crystal and ore, his face split by a broad, irrepressible grin. Legolas watched him and warmed with his reflected joy.

 

For many days, they ambled across the stairs and trails, wondering at each new discovery. They collected fallen fragments of crystal, bathed in a shimmering, bejeweled waterfall, and listened to the melodies of their favorite songs bounce and echo off the caves’ vast walls. Gimli’s delight loosened his already generous tongue, and he was brimful of stories of his people’s history and the magnificence of their craftsmanship. He found in Legolas a jovial and tireless audience - but although the Elf listened to his tales with a smile, as their journey wore on he felt a shadow growing in his heart. When Gimli was asleep, or wholly absorbed in his study of rocks and minerals, his thoughts had begun to take a dark and frightening turn.

 

One night, Gimli lay snoring in their small bivouac as Legolas kept a half-hearted watch. There was little threat of attackers in this remote place, and there was no way to distinguish day from night under the earth, so these hours passed mostly in quiet reflection. Like the rest of his folk, Legolas was accustomed to being alone with his thoughts - Elves did not chatter needlessly but were more reserved in their speech than the pleasantly loquacious Gimli. During the War of the Ring, he had spent many long hours traveling in companionable silence while the other members of the Fellowship conversed. But here in the beautiful solitude of Aglarond, something that had lain buried deep within his heart had been unearthed.

 

Traveling with Gimli had become as comfortable and familiar to him as the weight and smoothness of his own bow. Though he could never have predicted that they should be such easy companions, it was now quite impossible for him to imagine taking up the road with another. But this was not all. As they passed more days and nights in each other’s company, Legolas had become plagued by strange thoughts. He would look upon Gimli’s face when the Dwarf was engrossed in a tale, and his fingers would twitch with a sudden urge to touch. His ginger hair, his elegantly plaited beard, the corded muscles of his stout arms - all of these things drew Legolas’ eye as he observed them with alarming clarity. And the low rumble of Gimli’s voice, employed in conversation or hearty Dwarven song, sent a pleasant frisson down Legolas’ spine. He could not explain this strange affliction, and he certainly would not speak of it to Gimli. But despite his efforts to ignore the feelings grew, joined by vivid dreams and fevered imaginings that occurred at the most inopportune of moments. Legolas became a stranger to himself, but he could not think of any way to halt the transformation.

 

There was no need for a fire within the Caves, since the air was undisturbed by wind or dew, so there was little for Legolas to busy himself with during the long watch. He had caught himself gazing again upon the sleeping form of Gimli, who lay in peaceful repose beneath his wrappings. One of the Dwarf’s arms was outstretched unconsciously, and Legolas’ traitorous mind had begun to imagine what it would feel like to lay his head upon it, to pull the blankets over them both and bask in Gimli’s warmth and familiar scent. He tried to banish the thought, but already it had begun to come to life in his mind, and his blood was quickening.

 

Gimli would waken at the intrusion, of course, ready to spring against any attacker. But once he recognized his bedfellow, all the tension would ebb from his limbs. With a knowing chuckle he would enfold the Elf in his arms, soothing him with soft caresses into a calm so sweet and deep it would feel like mortal sleep. Or perhaps he would start with sudden desire, being made aware that Legolas desired him as well. His drowsy features would brighten and he would seize the Elf in an ardent embrace, casting an age of bitter history aside - along with Legolas’ garments, of course.

 

Legolas tightened his jaw and tried valiantly to push the fantasy aside. He forced his gaze away from Gimli and sat for a long moment in uncomfortable silence. But the heat in his blood and the fullness in his trousers were too great - he would not be able to endure them without some intercession. Reluctantly he rose and wandered down the path, searching for a private place where the echoing walls would not betray him.

 

At last he came upon a place where a vein of dark stone had formed a small alcove. A pool of still water had collected on the ground, but there was enough room for Legolas to climb inside if he ducked his head. His brow furrowed in resignation as he rested his back against the smooth stone wall and took himself in hand. He bit back a moan as his mind filled once again with lurid visions. Gimli’s hands, calloused from years of laboring in the mines and swinging his heavy axe, would move across his skin with a tantalizing roughness. The coarse hair of his beard would sweep along his chest and stomach as he crept lower and lower… and the husky growl of his voice would reverberate in Legolas’ very bones as he wrapped his mouth around -

 

Legolas’ spending came with a quick and violent shudder, nearly knocking him off his feet. He panted as his hips bucked mindlessly through the aftershocks, silver seed splashing into the dark pool beneath him. Hastily he cleaned himself and righted his clothes. Hot on the heels of his pleasure, a wave of shame and anxiety overtook him, and he gave an exasperated sigh. What was he to do with these blighted thoughts? Would he be tormented by them forever, doomed to hide and cower from his dearest friend? Or would he lose control and ruin all that they had built together?

 

He held his head in his hands. Strange fates became of Elves who strayed into the waters of mortal love. Tragedy and loneliness, separation from his kin, exile from his Woodland home, and even in death, from the halls of Mandos. These were the warnings his father and the other Eldar gave the young. There was, it seemed, no good that could come of such aberrant behavior. And yet none of these bleak auguries seemed strong enough to drive the thoughts of Gimli from his mind.

 

Strange fates. The words rang ominously in his head as he returned to camp. To his dismay, Gimli was already awake and shuffling through his pack for some breakfast. His ruddy face betrayed a faint trace of irritation. Legolas’ stomach turned as he wondered if the Dwarf had overheard him. He was sure his face was naked with guilt.

 

“I don’t doubt safety of this place,” Gimli said to him, “but if you wanted to wander off you might have told me.” He pulled a sausage and some dry biscuits from the pack and began to munch.

 

Legolas tried desperately to keep his expression neutral, but he had so scandalised himself that even his voice was unsteady. “I had not gone far,” he replied lamely. “I was merely… answering nature’s call.” He searched the Dwarf’s face for signs of suspicion. If Gimli had heard his moaning from where he slept, all hope of concealment would be lost.

 

Gimli dismissed the issue with a lusty bite of his sausage. “No matter. The day is young, and there is much to explore!” He offered the pack to Legolas with his free hand. “Do you want anything?”

 

“No, thank you,” Legolas answered. His stomach was as tight and tense as a bowstring. While Gimli broke his fast, he busied himself with packing up the Dwarf’s bedding and the rest of their provisions. He watched Gimli surreptitiously, and suddenly the sight of his insouciant chewing filled him with jealousy. With set jaw, he finished packing, more dismayed by the anger that had grown from his curdled affection than he had been by the sentiment itself.

 

***

 

They walked along another stretch of path, the silence broken only by Gimli’s intermittent bursts of appreciation. Legolas found he no longer wished to follow the Dwarf into each corner and tributary, and he lingered behind in a poor imitation of patience. He felt resentment and bitterness spreading like poison through his heart; all the things he had once loved about Gimli’s company now served as ill reminders of what was surely unattainable. He grew despondent, retreating into his own thoughts, until even Gimli’s voice seemed far away. This could not go on, he realized with heartbreaking clarity. He had to leave before all honor and hope of unsullied memory was lost.

 

Several more hours had passed before he could bring himself to utter the words. They had stopped to drink from the silvery underground stream when he finally found the courage. “Gimli,” he began haltingly, “I know that your heart is joyful here, and that you would be glad to pass many more days in this place. But I… I am ready to leave.”

 

Gimli looked up, wiping some stray droplets of clear water from his beard. A faint, forced smile crossed his features. “Aye, laddie,” he said charitably. “You have been patient with me. Your words are true. I am beginning to think I could spend the rest of my life in this glorious temple of living stone! But alas, I promised you a visit to Fangorn, and you shall have it.”

 

Legolas looked down at the shimmering water with a heavy heart. “No,” he said. “I have changed my mind. I do not wish to go to Fangorn.” It was a lie, of course, or it would have been if not for his crushing sorrow. The forests of Fangorn had delighted him, but without Gimli, or worse, together with him in this unbearable closeness, all of its appeal drained away.

 

“Well that’s a surprise!” Gimli cried with a chortle. “I shall be glad to have ducked that axe-blow. But I still owe you an adventure of some sort. Where then shall we go?”

 

“I do not know where I shall go,” Legolas said. “But I must go alone.”

 

Gimli’s winged eyebrows came together in consternation. “What do you mean, lad?” he asked. “You wish to cut the journey short?”

 

Legolas felt his insides squirm in distress. “Yes,” he ground out, staring dumbly at his hands. He could not meet Gimli’s concerned gaze.

 

It was not the way of Dwarves to pry, this Legolas knew. Though it might pain him, and even if he guessed them, he would not force a confession out of Legolas. “I am baffled by this change,” the Dwarf admitted solemnly, “but I will not argue. If you can stand it, I would wait until the day is out, and I had rested through the night. Then we can set off at dawn, if you wish it.”

 

Gimli’s words made Legolas’ throat tighten with emotion. How quickly he sacrificed his own pleasure for Legolas’ comfort, and without challenge or interrogation! His reply sounded hollow as he spoke, as if it came not from his lips but echoed from some long-forgotten recess of the Caves. “I can live with that.” Another empty lie.

 

After a long and uncomfortable silence, Legolas turned and fled. Gimli watched him walk away into the shadows, filled with confusion and dismay.

 

***

 

Gimli was patient, but after several hours of awkward solitude, his worries got the best of him. He searched the nearby caves with growing unease, until he spotted the Elf’s slender silhouette upon a high swell of stone. He took in the slump of Legolas’ back and the shaking of his shoulders with a heavy heart. It was a long time before he could resolve himself to approach.

 

Legolas heard him coming long before he would have liked, his hunched shoulders straightening. The Elf kept his back turned and spoke to him in a voice full of sorrow.

“I am sorry,” he said. “You do not deserve this.”

 

“I do not begrudge you your solitude,” Gimli replied, “but I was getting a bit lonely. And I thought perhaps you might have left the caves altogether.”

 

Legolas whirled, his golden hair snapping back. “I would never abandon you,” he said fiercely. His eyes were swollen with tears, as Gimli had not seen him since the death of the Grey Wizard. The sight sent a pang of compassion through his stout heart.

 

The Dwarf threw up his hands in a gesture of truce. “I could make it back to Minas Tirith on my own merits, I dare say,” he countered gently. “It would not be unkind for you to leave me here, among the beauty and hospitality of these caves. But my heart would be sore with your parting.” Gimli sighed and settled himself on a nearby rock, pulling thoughtfully on his beard. “I only wish you would tell me what troubles you so ardently. Is this some trait of Elves as yet unknown to me, to be seized by sudden fits of pique?”

 

“Would that it were,” Legolas answered bitterly. “Would that I could follow the customs of my people, and find happiness in conformity! Alas, I have strayed too far from the woods, and have sown the seeds of my own ruin.”

 

“I sense your pain is deep, friend Elf,” Gimli said, “but I cannot guess your meaning. Of what ruin do you speak?”

 

Legolas buried his head in his hands, pushing his palms over his reddened eyes as if to blot out the world. “I have spent too much time among mortals,” he lamented, “and now, as I ought to be thinking of returning home to seek a mate, I find that my heart desires another.”

 

Gimli was hesitant. He tried to think of an encouraging reply, but the Elf’s confusing words made it difficult to answer clearly. “Well, that needn’t be a cause for ruin,” he attempted. “I have heard of stranger things that ended well enough. What of the Lady Arwen and King Aragorn?”

 

Legolas’ fair face twisted in anguish. He turned slowly and looked at Gimli, the misery upon his unguarded features piercing the Dwarf’s heart. “The one my heart has chosen is… forbidden to me.”

 

Gimli’s brow knitted uncomprehendingly. “Who is it, lad?”

 

Fresh, hot tears spilled down the Elf’s cheeks, leaving sparkling trails in the dim light of the cavern. “I fear that even to speak of it would cause great harm, and destroy a bond that once was beautiful…”

 

The realization dawned on Gimli slowly. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open as, at last, he understood. “Legolas,” he breathed. “Do you speak… of me?”

 

The Elf gave a slow, solemn nod. Tears poured down his face, dripping from his chin onto the dusty ground. “Alas, I cannot bear to deceive you any longer. I love you, Gimli son of Gloin,” he sobbed, “and it has made me wretched. My life is forfeit.”

 

For a long moment, Gimli sat in silent disbelief. The only sound was Legolas’ gentle weeping, which echoed and reverberated through the caves as if the stones themselves shared his pain.

 

Slowly the Dwarf approached Legolas and laid a hand on the Elf’s shaking shoulder. Legolas cringed away from him. “Do not touch me, I beg you,” he wailed. “Every kindness you show me only sharpens the pain of our parting.”

 

Gimli retracted his hand, but did not draw away. “Such a fair face, to be wasted on weeping,” he said softly. Legolas looked up at him with limpid, tearful eyes. “Do not be so quick to doom yourself to torment and loneliness, my friend.” He scanned the sparkling walls and the glassy pool below thoughtfully. “I do not yet know what I make of this, Legolas, but I do know that I have grown very fond of you, and it pains me to see you suffer so. I ask your patience. Let me sit with it a while, and see what my heart says. Could you do that for me?”

 

Legolas sniffed and stared at him dolefully. “You need not shelter me so, Gimli,” he said. “I have seen that which catches your eye. I cannot hope to match the radiance of the Lady Galadriel. And I will never be able to offer you the family and posterity that a she-Dwarf could.”

 

“If you have seen what catches my eye, then you know that it often comes as a surprise,” Gimli said warmly. “Now let us climb down from this place and find the mouth of the Caves. It is nearly time for supper, and I think if would do you some good to breathe fresh air and see the light of the stars.” He offered his hand, and though Legolas needed no aid to stand, the Elf gingerly accepted it. Together they made their way down the slope and toward the Caves’ entrance, where a mild night was falling.

 

His vision blurred by stubborn tears, Legolas followed Gimli to the threshold, where the Dwarf bid a fond and emphatic farewell to the Glittering Caves. “I think I shall return here someday,” he said hopefully. “My people could make a fine life as the guardians and cultivators of the stone.” With a wistful glance, he passed through the entrance and returned to the world of soil, trees, and grass.

 

Legolas lingered, watching him with an unreadable expression. “Come, Legolas,” he said. “The night breeze is gentle, and the stars are bright. It will lift your spirits, I hope.” Reluctantly, the Elf made his way through the passage and joined his friend under the star-studded sky.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon leaving the Glittering Caves, Gimli attempts to puzzle out whether he really could give his heart to an Elf. To his chagrin, he discovers that his heart has already made the decision for him. 
> 
> Somehow this originally fluffy chapter ended in smut. The final chapter will elaborate ;p

They camped in a glen beside the mouth of the Caves, where the grass was soft and frosted with slumbering flowers. The land was blissfully peaceful - their modest fire drew nothing but fireflies and moths as they ate a simple travelers’ supper. Through the trees they caught the occasional glimpse of Arod as he grazed, patient but ever listening for Legolas’ whistle. The tension between Elf and Dwarf had eased at the first sight of starlight - Legolas had quietly reveled as their cool tranquility soothed his aching heart. Gimli had noted his friend’s relief without pride or self-satisfaction. It seemed impossible that a Dwarf, with only a few decades of life under his belt, could be so much wiser than an immortal Elf. But there were many things about Gimli that Elven lore could not explain. How the deep brogue of his voice in tale-telling could banish the weariness of travel, or how the beauty of his ginger-framed face in the flickering firelight could eclipse any smooth-skinned maiden… these were mysteries for Legolas alone to unravel. For all his fretting, the thought of doing so brought a fledgling joy to his heart.

 

After the fire had dwindled to a small, smoldering mound, Gimli lay out his bedroll at the trunk of a stout tree and began to settle down for sleep. They talked little, Legolas noting the Dwarf’s careful attempts to draw out pleasant conversation and keep his fears at bay. The fresh air, the starlight, the scent of pine and water and wind - all these things, Legolas admitted after gentle prodding, refreshed his spirit. _Yes,_ he admitted hesitantly, Arda was a place of beauty and hope, of infinite variety, of wonders and surprises. It was only later, wandering in Elvish dream, that he understood the deeper meaning behind the Dwarf’s pretty speech.

 

Legolas watched Gimli ensconce himself between cloak and cushion as he stirred some water over the ashes. His ears caught the Dwarf’s small grunts and groans of pleasure, and he felt comforted as if he himself were swaddled deep in blankets. Soundlessly, he padded over and lowered himself into a seated position a few feet away, where the trees parted enough to reveal some glimmering stars. Their silver light fell upon his face like a gentle caress. Gimli watched him companionably from a gap in the blankets.

 

“I’ve no wish to press you,” came the Dwarf’s muffled voice, “I know the day has been trying. But I can’t help thinking how little I know of your people in matters other than combat and a few old ballads. I would learn what I could, if the knowledge was forthcoming.”

 

Legolas weighed his words carefully. Fear wrestled with hope within him, tightening his throat as he gave a nod of acquiescence. “Yes,” he began, “it is well that you should know the customs of my people, if only to understand how badly I have forsaken them.”

 

“Come closer, then, lad,” Gimli entreated gently, “for the forest is alive with night-sounds, and I have not the benefit of your pointed ears.”

 

Legolas knew well that Gimli could hear, but the Dwarf’s warmth and humor soothed him. He crawled closer, taking care not to disturb the covers. Gimli uncovered his head, an expression of patient interest upon his face. “If I speak of my own people,” Legolas asked, “will you also tell me of the Dwarves? There is much I wish to know, if you would share it.”

 

“I’ll tell you what I can, laddie,” Gimli said with a wry smile, “though I haven’t much abided by the ways of my own folk, either.”

 

“Very well,” Legolas said, shifting his gaze to the strengthening stars. As he spoke, he tried to focus on their steadfast brilliance and ignore the gnawing discomfort in his belly.

 

“Although we are immortal, the hearts of Elves do not wander as Men’s do. We may live for many centuries, but we take only one mate. Whatever fate befalls our beloved is ours as well - whether we follow them into death or choose to live on in solitude. But it is not the way of Elves to dally with other races. Though I envy the Lady Arwen in her bravery, I fear for her as well. Her future holds great loneliness, as did the few in our history who took her path.” Legolas swallowed a wave of anxiety as these words left his lips. “But perhaps it is better to be happy for a short while, even if  tragedy awaits, than to live forever with neither love nor loss for company." He gave a soft sigh. "I am not one of the Wise. It is not for me to know."

 

Gimli emerged a bit further from his wrappings like a snail in the dew. "I've wondered the same thing," he offered. "We Dwarves are stubborn lovers. We, too, have a habit of fixing ourselves on one soul such that no one else in the wide world will do. If they're not on the market, so to speak, we'll spend the rest of our days fretting or working ourselves half to death as a distraction." He gave a wry chuckle, as if recalling some fond but absurd memory. "I'll tell you, a good share of pretty things have been wrought by broken-hearted Dwarves with too much time on their hands."

 

The icy hand of fear that had clutched at Legolas' heart in the caves had all but disappeared. Sitting comfortably beside the Dwarf, with his eyes lifted skyward and his hand just brushing Gimli's grey cloak, he felt safe despite his errant heart. The thoughts that had earlier seemed treasonous and impure now struck him as wryly comforting. That was, after all, Gimli's greatest merit. His presence brought comfort and a sense of peace that rivaled the high flets of the Mallorn trees.

 

A sudden breeze ruffled the Elf's hair and made the trees sway like drunken marionettes. Gimli shrank. "There's a chill," he grumbled. "Put your arm around me, Master Elf."

 

Legolas' eyes went wide, but Gimli's small smirk reassured him. Tentatively, as if afraid he might cause injury, he drew one arm around the Dwarf's broad shoulders. Gimli shuffled closer and tucked his nose against the soft suede of his Elven tunic. With a jolt of impotent alarm, Legolas realized he had not bathed since before they entered the Caves. Though later he would chide himself for such foolish fretting, he hoped ardently that his scent did not offend the Dwarf.

 

His back went rigid, so hesitant was he to lean against his friend or overstep the generous liberties he had already been granted. He tried to keep himself upright, but the gentle weight of the drowsy Dwarf against his side compelled Legolas to shift closer. Slowly enough to appear a mere accident of gravity, they rolled toward one another until Legolas held him in a half-embrace. Gimli's hand reached across his belly to balance their combined weight, clutching a handful of blankets, and came to rest just above his hip. Legolas schooled his quickening breath into a resting rhythm, and let his head fall against the rough tree trunk. Within moments, it had drooped onto Gimli's hood.

 

He had expected to be mad with desire, lying as he was with Gimli all but in his arms, but his loins stirred not. Instead, he merely felt a profound tranquility. So it was in all his fantasies - the passion of lovemaking was not superior to the quiet joy of shared sleep. Each had its pleasures, and tonight, it was rest, not release, that Legolas craved. He nestled against the tree, letting the forest's breath and the warmth of his friend nourish his spirit. He willed the moment to last, and, mercifully, it did.

 

The night stretched on like a cat, languorous and content. Legolas drifted in and out of dreams so deep and pleasant they could have been a mortal's. He walked through starlit meadows and halls of carven stone, and found his way to a downy bed, enfolded by stout limbs and tickling ginger hair. At last, Gimli woke with a sputtering cough. An errant leaf or morsel of dust had found its way into his windpipe.

 

Legolas straightened, giving the Dwarf enough room to hack out the intruding particle. His heart ached a little as he released Gimli. Still, he felt renewed, as if he had been steeped in a hot bath of Athelas. The thought of a bath jogged his memory, and he disentangled himself fully from the bundled Dwarf. "It has been some days since I have visited the stream," he said, surprised and a bit chagrinned to discover that his voice had grown husky. "Perhaps I will go and enjoy the cool water while you sleep."

 

Gimli's eyes glinted in the starlight. "Don't go too far," he mumbled with a drowsy smile. "I may have need of you again, if the wind picks up..."

 

The corners of Legolas' mouth turned up of their own accord. "Of course," he answered as he drew himself up. "I will keep my ears open for your call." He strode into the sheltering wood, wondering like the fool he was if Gimli were watching him leave.

 

***

 

Gimli lay huddled against the tree for a long while, torn between fetching his pipe for a thoughtful smoke and preserving his cocoon of warmth. Out of sheer lethargy he opted for the latter, and settled for gazing contemplatively out at the stars and the rolling hills of Rohan below. Like a good craftsman, he examined the frail filament of trust he had wrought between Legolas and himself. It had gone well enough by his reckoning. He recalled the feeling of the Elf's long arm slung around his shoulders, turning the sensation over in his mind with a jeweler's scrutiny. The long archer's fingers, deft but immensely strong, the patient trepidation with which the Elf allowed himself to sink into Gimli's weight, the spicy sweetness of his travel-worn tunic... _Aye,_ he decided with a secret smirk. He could live with that.

 

Unfortunately, after the Elf's departure, sleep eluded him. He spent a good while lost in pleasant musings, his engineer's mind puzzling out the mechanics of a tryst between an Elf and a Dwarf. But eventually he grew bored and subsequently grumpy, and finally he abandoned sleep altogether and got stiffly to his feet. As he followed into the wood, he hoped that the Elf had heeded his request to stay close. A cool drink at the stream would not do him much good if he tripped and broke his face on a tree root in the dark.

 

He followed what he hoped was Legolas' path, faint as it was in the moonlight and littered with leaf and twig long uncleared. Though he did not know where to look, his feet were drawn toward a dull rushing sound that must have been the stream. He picked his way along the steepening path until the trees gave way to a small embankment glistening with smooth stones. Above him, a roaring waterfall cascaded into a small pool that overflowed and streamed down the hill. Bathed in silver moonlight, the scene was breathtaking. The rocks and bits of deadwood shone like gems, and the air was fresh and fragrant with the scents of the forest. Gimli marveled at the scene, contemplating a brief soak of his feet, when he spotted a familiar pale silhouette crouched on one of the larger rocks.

 

The Elf had removed his boots and his garments, and sat with his feet dangling in the cool running water. His golden hair streamed unplaited towards the water's surface, catching the moonlight like a lantern. The light Elven armor, tunic and grey-green leggings lay folded neatly behind him. Gimli wondered if the roaring water had obscured the Elf’s hearing; surely he would have detected his approach otherwise. As it was, he took the opportunity to study the Elf's bare back, and to continue considering his decision.

 

Legolas was fair, no doubt, though not in the same fashion as a Dwarf was taught to appreciate. Gimli admired his slender form and smooth skin, the delicacy of his shoulders and gently protruding backbone that betrayed nothing of his strength. He had always thought the Elf’s physique appealing, though more useful as the butt of a joke than to please him in his private thoughts. Like many of his kind, Gimli's heart was devoted to his craft, and did not often trouble itself with thoughts of courtship and romance. The only thing that had stirred his blood since their quest began had been the luminous beauty of Galadriel, and he could hardly be alone in that. If he had his Elvish history right, her fairness had inspired many great deeds - and some woeful ones as well.

 

Still, he had not been foolish enough to imagine himself with her. There had been no fevered dreams of her flesh, no rancor that she had already chosen a lover. His had been a courtly love, chaste and innocent as it was ardent. Though beautiful, she was also remote, unattainable. Legolas, however, was not so.

 

He weighed the choice carefully, as would any sensible Dwarf when determining the worth of a precious stone. Suppose he did take up the Elf’s strange proposition. What would he discover? Legolas was mild-mannered enough, though humor often twinkled in his bright eyes. Gimli had seen flickers of passion upon his features, in the heat of battle when his foes were closing in. But he knew not what the Elf would be like as a lover. Their brief catnap under the tree was hardly measure enough. And though he had lived to see many strange things, Gimli had never known pleasure at the hands of another male, and could not be certain it would be for him. Even if Dwarven ingenuity could accommodate their different bodies, would he find his blood quickened for an Elf? Would he find that his love of Legolas’ company endured outside the bedroom, or would the Elves’ poncy and saturnine ways drive him mad?

 

Gazing hard at the unsuspecting Elf, who was idly combing dampened fingers through his hair, Gimli felt a decision crystallizing in his heart. There was only one way to answer these questions. His own capacity for love had surprised him once. Perhaps it would happen again. He raised his foot and took a tentative step onto the bank, trying to find a path that would leave his boots less soggy. His crossing must have caught the Elf’s peripheral vision, for suddenly the golden head whipped toward him, an expression of surprise and alarm filling Legolas’ features. He reached frantically for his clothes, but Gimli waved a dismissive hand at him.

 

“Don’t get up, laddie, I’ll come to you,” he shouted over the din of the roaring water. “My feet could use a good soak.” Legolas watched him nervously as he found his way and came to sit beside him on the rock.

 

“I did not expect you would wake,” Legolas said, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “Much less that you would seek me out."

 

With a bit of tugging and maneuvering, Gimli managed to free his feet from their heavy boots. “I only followed the path,” he answered. “Were you meaning not to be found?”

 

“No,” said Legolas. “I suppose not." His slender hands rushed to cover himself as Gimli's eyes flicked unconsciously downward. "But I would have dressed..."

 

Gimli thrust his feet into the cool water with a sigh. “Never mind that. It isn't the first time I've seen you in nothing but your skin, and I doubt it'll be the last."

 

A flicker of hope passed over Legolas' face, but was quickly suppressed.

 

Gimli swirled the water idly with his feet. “I've been thinking,” he said resolutely. “You took me a bit by surprise, back in the Caves. I confess I’d never thought that way about you, or any Elf, despite my admiration of the Lady. But the thought has grown in my mind of its own accord. I wonder if it wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.”

 

The Elf stared at him in hopeful disbelief. The moonlight threw his features into stark contrast - his dark brows and dilated eyes were striking against pale skin. “I was not expecting you to say that.”

 

Gimli favored him with a smile. “Neither was I. But there you have it.”

 

A sudden surge of emotion seized the Elf. “I am unworthy of such fortune,” he said. “But I will try my hardest to earn it.” He reached out and clasped Gimli's rough hands in his own, unabashed now by his nakedness. Whether it was some form of Elvish fascination or just old-fashioned desire, the tearful sincerity in Legolas' great eyes made Gimli's mouth feel suddenly dry.

 

”I suppose you've finished your bath," Gimli stammered, pleased but unprepared for the sudden onslaught of heat that flushed his face and pooled in his groin.

 

"Yes, I was merely idling," Legolas admitted. "I must also put up my hair again, and I did not feel like making the effort."

 

“I’ll do it, lad,” Gimli offered, surprising both of them. “If you wouldn't find my meddling too much of a vexation,” he added with a smirk.

 

Legolas seemed hesitant to accept, whether from modesty or from fear of the Dwarf’s ungainliness it was not clear. But he would have been foolish to turn away what was clearly a gentle overture. “No, I would not,” he finally answered. “You have been very kind to me, Gimli. I am grateful.” Smoothly he turned his back and crossed his long legs in a patient gesture. The brief flush that crossed the Elf's features did not go unnoticed.

 

Gimli scooted forward, gathering the Elf’s long, fine hair in his skillful hands. He found himself pleasantly surprised as his flesh continued to warm at the thought of the body before him. There was something about this business that actually felt quite natural - the more he considered it, the more he could no longer see their continuing friendship any other way. He began to divide the Elf’s long mane into even sections, savoring the hum of arousal that teased his nerves. As the Elf's forearms broke out into gooseflesh, and small, wordless shivers coursed through his back, Gimli reminded himself smugly that Elves were impervious to cold.

 

They had spent enough time cantering along on Arod’s back for Gimli to be quite familiar with the back of the Elf’s head. He knew well enough how Legolas kept his hair. He worked methodically, but did not rush - there was no need for haste. From time to time, he murmured instructions for Legolas to lean back or turn this way or that, and the Elf’s quick, unquestioning obedience sent an electric tingle down his spine. For a brief, surprising moment, he was tempted to pull Legolas’ head back and seize him with a sudden kiss. With more than a hint of reluctance, he swiped the small silver ribbon that lay fluttering on the stone and tied the largest plait with deft fingers.

 

"Want to have a look?" Gimli asked, his voice a few shades more gravelly than he'd expected.

 

Legolas twisted around strangely, but he was smiling. "I trust you," he replied. Gimli realized suddenly that the Elf had probably contorted himself to keep the proof of his desire from Gimli's sight. As if to confirm the assumption, the Elf turned his back demurely. "I am grateful, Gimli. For everything. But I should get dressed... if you would-"

 

"You needn't, if you don't want to." The words were out of Gimli's mouth before his mind could catch up. He felt a flare of worry that his impetuousness would cost him, but his blood was hot from pulling at that tantalizing hair and brushing his elbows over those smooth shoulders. "Not yet." He reached out and ran his fingers from the nape of Legolas' neck down to the base of his spine. The Elf’s head tilted back and he arched into the touch before turning to face Gimli in surprise. He was so fully erect that it looked painful, but his bright eyes were heavy and his lips parted with desire.

 

Gimli chided himself inwardly as he felt his doubts about Elves’ attractiveness evaporate once and for all. It was suddenly clear as _Kheled-zâram_ that he had, in fact, desired this for a long time.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay, it's done! Thank you so much to Lisafer for her wonderful beta on this chapter <3

Legolas tentatively turned to face his friend. It was a challenge to keep the evidence of his excitement covered beneath a demure arm. He searched Gimli’s face for signs of discomfiture, but was mercifully disappointed. A spark had kindled in the Dwarf’s features as if he were hatching a plan. "Give me your hand," he said,as he reached out to gently grasp Legolas' wrist. Legolas obeyed, watching him with the intensity of a deer ready to bolt. With long, slow strokes, Gimli began to caress the length of Legolas' hand. He ghosted over the Elf’s fingertips and carefully kneaded the pliant flesh of his palm. Legolas breathed deeply as sensation flooded his fingers and prickled along his arm. The keen arousal that had gripped him softened and spread into something sweet and unfamiliar. Though the hour was late, he felt awash in sunlight.

 

"After a long day's work,” said Gimli in a voice like faraway thunder, “those Dwarrows lucky enough to have found a mate often do this for each other. Like our craft, our love requires the work of the hands as well as the heart.” Though his gaze was cast down toward his ministrations, Legolas could feel the heat and quickening of the Dwarf’s breath upon his skin.

 

“It is wonderful,” he murmured as the Dwarf’s fingers trailed upward to the sensitive crease of his elbow. When his movements slowed a moment later, Legolas closed his fingers around Gimli’s and cradled the Dwarf’s hand in his own. “May I try?” he asked with a bashful smile. He began to reciprocate, doing his best to mimic Gimli’s movements although he suspected he was far clumsier. The Dwarf’s soft sighs and deepening breaths instructed him quickly and guided his hands into a pleasant rhythm. Obligingly, Gimli pushed up the sleeve of his tunic to expose a freckled, muscular arm. He had the rough, calloused hands of a warrior, but beneath the surface his flesh was warm and yielding. Legolas thrilled as his fingers lovingly surveyed this unexplored territory. His touch ducked inquisitively beneath the rumpled fabric to caress the Dwarf’s powerful shoulder. He drew closer until his forehead nearly grazed Gimli’s, though he was so lost in mapping the  architecture of the Dwarf’s soft skin that he scarcely noticed. When their lips brushed at last, it was with the inevitable sweetness of a leaf falling to the earth.

 

Gimli’s lips were softer than Legolas had imagined them, the gentle tickle of his beard pleasant and strangely seductive. He could taste the sage and salt of the Dwarf’s evening ablutions, but also something sweet and alive that was uniquely his own. The fire in his belly redoubled at the gentle scrape of beard upon his cheek, and he felt a sigh escape him. He hoped ardently that the Dwarf would find him as pleasing. His doubts were soon laid to rest as Gimli reached up and cupped the back of his head with one broad hand, pulling him down into a deeper kiss. Legolas stroked the Dwarf’s cheeks and carded through his ginger beard as they tentatively explored each other - he nearly swooned as Gimli’s thick tongue plunged into his mouth. After an enduring moment, they parted, both flushed and breathless.

 

Legolas could feel a twinge of guilt like a shadow over his blooming desire. _“Mellonamin,”_ he panted, “are you certain… that this is what you want?” He ran a hand fondly down Gimli’s barrel chest, feeling the heat beneath his tunic. “It would grieve me to think I acted too soon-”

 

Gimli placed his hand over Legolas’, fixing the Elf with a fiery gaze. “I am certain,” he growled. “I have never been so certain of anything as I am now.” Legolas’ heart swelled like a sail catching a trade wind. He threw his arms around the Dwarf, heedless of the impropriety of his own nakedness . Gimli gave an amiable huff as the air was lovingly squeezed from his lungs. “But perhaps,” he wheezed, “we could go somewhere a bit more comfortable than this slippery rock?”

 

With a gentle chuckle, Legolas released him. He felt a warmth and light rising within him that could not be attributed to arousal alone. It was not the thought of Gimli’s touch that ignited this feeling, though long had he thirsted for it, but the knowledge that their coupling would bind them together in more than flesh alone. “Of course,” he said, trying not to spoil the moment with laughter. “Let us return to camp. Or to the seclusion of the Caves, if you wish it.” He rose and helped Gimli to his feet, taking the opportunity to pull him into a tight embrace before hastily snatching up his own garments. They picked their way to the bank of the stream once more and hastened back to the glade, where Gimli’s cloak and blankets still lay upon the soft grass. It was not long before Legolas found himself kneeling over the recumbent Dwarf, who had disrobed with encouraging swiftness. Gimli lay beneath him, clad only in the simple woolen garment he wore beneath his hauberk and hose.

 

“Are you comfortable?” Legolas asked, gently tugging at the laces which held the fabric in place.

 

“Very,” came the husky reply. Gimli allowed himself to be slowly and tenderly undressed, his eyes drifting closed as Legolas treasured each new inch of exposed skin. At last the Elf pulled it from his ankles and bent to plant a trail of kisses from his furred legs all the way back to his smiling mouth. Though the stream’s cool water had chilled him, the Dwarf quickly stirred to life again at the gentle, tantalizing touch. Legolas ghosted a hand over the downy hairs of Gimli’s belly and the tender hollow of his hip. His fingers came to rest gingerly upon the Dwarf’s stout and lengthening cock. He gave it a few appreciative strokes, taking in its size and girth and drawing a rumbling moan from his companion. At this encouragement, he reached down and carefully cupped Gimli’s scrotum, reveling at the weight and heat of it in his palm. The Dwarf’s hips rolled forward instinctively, and his sudden intake of breath made Legolas’ ears burn. “Oh, lad,” Gimli ground out, “that’s _good_.”

 

Although Legolas had never before laid his hands upon another male, he found that Gimli’s anatomy was not so different from his own. The differences between them brought delight rather than discomfort to his racing heart. Gimli was thick and sturdy where he was slender, and his skin had a florid glow where Legolas’ was merely rosy. He longed to wrap his lips around it, to discover the taste and scent of his most intimate places and to know the flavor of Gimli’s spending upon his tongue. But he knew that he would take no pleasure unless the Dwarf first gave his blessing. There would be time to explore every form and facet of Gimli’s pleasure, and Legolas would treasure each moment as it was revealed. For now, he would temper his momentum.

 

With each languorous stroke, Gimli let out a shuddering breath, his fingers grasping for purchase at Legolas’ shoulder, his hip, his upper arm. Legolas felt the heaviness of his own arousal as Gimli’s rumbling cries reverberated deep in his bones. Finally, the Dwarf could stand it no longer. With a growl, Gimli took him by the waist and pulled their bodies roughly together. Legolas melted into him as his own aching cock was suddenly, blissfully ensconced. A cry tore from his lips and he ground himself against the Dwarf’s welcoming heat. They writhed together, Legolas’ hips moving of their own volition as he cradled Gimli’s head against his chest. Gimli dragged his fingernails in slow, sweet agony down Legolas’ back.

 

Legolas had expected pleasure from their coupling, but he had not been prepared for the intensity of what he now felt. His mind reeled as desire ripped through him like lightning, blinding him and stealing the breath from his lungs. There were simply too many sensations, too many places to touch and be touched, too many possibilities for pleasure dawning in his mind - surely at any moment he would burst -

 

“What’s that, laddie?” the Dwarf asked. His beard tickled Legolas’ stomach as he spoke. The Elf loosened his grip and peered down at his lover with misty eyes. “You were mumbling… some Elvish nonsense, I think!”

 

A sudden mirth rose in Legolas’ chest, and he gave a merry laugh at his own expense. “I know not,” he admitted. “So lost was I in… in your touch. Forgive me.” Swiftly, he lowered himself until their faces were close once more, and Gimli claimed him in another ardent kiss. The Dwarf’s hands strayed to his hips, but his arms could not reach the prize they desired until Legolas curled up obligingly at Gimli’s flank. They lay side by side upon the soft grey cloak, and Legolas gave a soft whimper as Gimli’s fingers closed at last around his own aching shaft.

 

Legolas bent his head, almost reverently, to brush Gimli’s as the Dwarf began to move his hand in steady, even strokes. Gimli collected the silvery fluid leaking from the tip and swirled it in delicious patterns along his length. Legolas gripped his shoulders to keep from trembling. _“A'maelamin…_ ” he breathed as Gimli’s rhythm intensified. _“Yallume...amin lava...”_ A wave of sensation crashed over him, and he hooked one long leg over Gimli’s waist as his body tensed like a bowstring.

 

Once more he took Gimli in his hands, matching the pace and vigor of the Dwarf’s earnest motions. Their breath mingled in short, humid gusts as they both drew closer and closer to completion. Seeking another kiss to guide him over the edge, Legolas bent closer and found Gimli’s gaze. The expression that lit the Dwarf’s ruddy features was of such pure bliss… of _love_... that Legolas felt something shift deep within him. He gasped as his hips jerked violently forward, the white-hot dawn of his spending flooding every nerve in his body with light. Weightless, he arched against Gimli with a gasp, seed flowing freely over Gimli’s still-moving hands. He forced himself to focus on Gimli’s pleasure for another agonizing moment. Feverishly he pumped his hands and cradled himself against the Dwarf, until Gimli gave a shout and shuddered his own release into Legolas’ palm. They held each other through the long, quaking aftershocks, until the end left them entwined like a Dwarven braid, spent and faintly trembling.

 

Legolas drew the edges of the cloak around them, wrapping himself around Gimli in a way that was both tender and possessive. Here in this warm, secret place, his fears and fretting held no power. He felt only a transcendent peace and the gentle, steady throb of Gimli’s pulse beneath his fingertips. He craned his neck downward and planted a kiss upon the Dwarf’s forehead. “You amaze me,” he whispered. “Thank you. For your kindness, your friendship... your love. For all of it.”

 

Gimli nestled closer, snaking an arm around Legolas’ waist and burying his face in the warm hollow between arm and trunk. “You didn’t do so badly yourself,” he joked. “And I’ve a sneaking suspicion that the Elves have some tricks you’ve not yet shown me…”

 

Legolas’ laugh stirred the ginger curls on Gimli’s head. “Perhaps,” he said mysteriously. “I have myself wondered about certain... _applications_ of Dwarven creativity…”

 

The Dwarf must have recalled something especially peculiar at this notion, for his sudden burst of laughter shook them both. “Aye,” he chuckled. “There’ll be plenty of time for that.”

 

An adjustment of his legs gave Legolas a sticky reminder that they had not yet washed off the evidence of their spending. “Perhaps we should put ourselves to rights,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. He was loath to let go of Gimli, whose skin warmed him like a sun-kissed boulder and whose deepening breath was lulling him even as he spoke.

 

Thankfully, Gimli was equally reluctant. “In a moment,” he answered dismissively, tightening his grip around Legolas’ waist. Wordlessly they both agreed to remain, despite the mess, exactly as they were.

 

Legolas gave a contented sigh as he felt Gimli descend into the realm of mortal sleep. In a few moments his hearty snores resonated into Legolas’ chest. While his body rested in Gimli’s arms, he allowed his thoughts to wander to the future he had once feared. _Strange fates indeed,_ he thought wryly. His imagination soared, taking him to the majestic halls of Erebor, to the war-ravaged forests of Ithilien, and, someday, to the beautiful Grey Havens, always with Gimli at his side. To whatever ends their hearts might lead them, whatever tribulations their union might bring upon them, he was certain now that they would find their way. If this was to be his fate, he would have no other.

 

***

 

The chatter of birds pricked pleasantly at Gimli’s ears, stirring him from sleep. He rose reluctantly through dreams of blonde braids and strange Elvish croonings and cracked his eyelids open. It was only as he drew a fortifying breath that he was reminded of the warm, supine form that lay half-draped over his chest. He also realized with a start that, beneath the cloak that covered them, he was naked as a babe.

 

Legolas lay beside him, arms encircling but not smothering as he breathed peacefully into Gimli’s hair. His skin was bare as well, and felt soft and slightly cool except where their legs entwined. Gimli could feel where the evidence of their coupling dried upon his belly, and wrinkled his nose. The sweat of the forge and the stain of travel, he could tolerate, but to lie streaked with his own juices was too much for his pride. He thought to make a quick jaunt to the stream, but it would be impossible to extricate himself quietly. After a few patient moments, he chanced to whisper.

 

“Legolas, are you awake?”

 

The Elf shifted and pulled him closer. “I am now,” he teased.

 

“I must get up,” Gimli protested gently. “I need a wash and a pish. And perhaps some breakfast.”

 

Obligingly the warm arm snaked back toward its owner. “Of course.”

 

Gimli roused himself, slightly regretful as he emerged from their wrappings into the brisk morning. Behind him, the Elf continued to doze contentedly, though it was the first time in their long association that Gimli had risen earliest. He padded through the brush toward the stream, noting with wonder how the wood was transformed in daylight. Birds and furry creatures busied themselves in the trees, while shafts of sunlight peppered the ground and twinkled on his face as he walked. Even the smell of the leaves and nearby stream seemed somehow new and more potent than before. He waded into the bracing water and let its gentle current cleanse him. A profound, but quiet joy welled in his heart as he took in the sun’s caress, the sway of the trees, and the thrum of life around him. He chortled inwardly. Already he was turning into an Elf.

 

It was impossible for Gimli to say what he’d expected the night before, but he had no complaints. The pleasure he’d felt simply from giving pleasure had nearly overwhelmed him, and being granted his own had eclipsed any sensation his nerves had ever known. Though Gimli had never been a creature of lust, it thrilled him to think that they were as well-suited as lovers as they were as friends and shield-brothers. The fear and uncertainty he had grappled with had evaporated, replaced by a knowledge as steadfast and comforting as stone. _Where he goes, I shall go_ , he understood, _for as long as I draw breath._

 

A splash behind him alerted Gimli that the Elf had woken and followed. Legolas favored him with a warm, sleepy smile. “I brought your clothes,” he offered, laying some items from Gimli’s pack on a sunny stone.

 

“I can see that,” Gimli laughed. How the Elf loved to state the obvious! Still, the gesture warmed his heart. He returned to shore and watched with languid appreciation as Legolas bathed briskly and finally dropped his long tunic over his head. Once clothed, the Elf approached him hesitantly.

 

“Gimli,” he said, dropping to his knees so that he could look up at the Dwarf instead of down, “I hope the daylight has not altered… how you feel.” Legolas’ earnest face appeared suddenly to Gimli fairer and dearer than it ever had before, and he took it in his hands and kissed it.

 

The Elf’s hands rose to cover his. “If there has been any change,” Gimli said, “It is that my resolve has grown stronger. I would not leave your side now, no matter what fate may befall us.”

 

Legolas wrapped the Dwarf in an embrace so tight it nearly bruised. Gimli could feel the waves of emotion wash over the Elf with each measured breath, and he tensed as an answering tide rose in his own throat. He cleared away the offending mawkishness with a gruff sound.

 

“We can set out for Fangorn as soon as you are ready,” he declared, silently cursing the tremor in his voice. “That is, if you still wish to go at all…”

 

The Elf laughed softly against him. “Indeed, I do,” he replied as he pulled away. “I was merely being mulish before. Forgive me.” He rose, a playful expression upon his features. “I hope I can make the journey a pleasant one for you, even if you find nothing of note in the _forest_...”

 

“I’m sure you will, lad,” Gimli smirked. “Though you’d better tell those trees that I’ve no interest in their comments!”

 

Together, they strode off toward the campsite and the waiting saddle of Arod. Gimli found it hard to believe that less than a day had passed since the Elf’s confession in the Caves. But as swiftly as he had plunged into this new and remarkable territory, he felt a quiet certainty that his days would now be fuller and sweeter than they were before. As he gave the Glittering Caves one final glance from atop Arod’s flank, a decision etched itself upon his heart. Someday he would return to this place, and when he did, Mahal willing, the Elf would be at his side.


End file.
